Wendigo Rat
by Bee-Knee
Summary: Some cryptid legends are true, but not in the fun, magical ways. Bigfoot was simply a man born extra hairy and bitter. The Chupacabra was a starved hairless dog that once herded goats. Now a Wendigo is stalking about Overwatch and its name is Junkrat. (Cannibalism)
1. Chapter 1

_**Wendigo Rat: Chapter 1**_

* * *

"You know Roadhog, the first time I saw you, I wanted to kill...and eat you."

That wasn't a statement anyone sane ever said.

Normally, Junkrat's benign ramblings were as good as dust in the wind to Roadhog, but that statement, "_kill and eat_," wasn't something he was about to shake off and leave to ride on the air.

No one sane would.

"What. The. Fuck. Did, _you_ just say, Rat?"

Roadhog's fists curled into bricks. It had been easy to hook Junkrat's scrawny neck against his fingers.

Junkrat's adam's apple bobbed and any words he'd been in the middle of saying, died.

The Rat was strong, and tall; but, he could just as well be stretched out like a weasel or snake-and twisted into a knot.

He would not be getting away from Roadhog. Not when he'd been talking in such a free and trusting manner. Not when he'd been cocky and dumb enough to follow besides Roadhog so closely.

So close, the Rat had been, muttering his madness right into Hog's ear.

Roadhog detected fear in Junkrat's eyes. He nodded, grumbling an approval.

Good, there was a bit of sense left in the man.

"Whoa, sorry I-"

Junkrat began to quiver as it became apparent Hog hadn't taken kindly to his statement.

Roadhog had killed others for much much less.

"I-I wasn't thinking. I-it was silly of me to say it!"

"What _did_ you just say?" Roadhog tightened his grip. Junkrat stiffened and his eyes grew impossibly wider. "Say it!"

"I said, I wanted to eat you, Hog!" Junkrat looked bashful as he stared at the ground.

"Not in any friendly or joking way either; the bloody, crunchy, and dead way…"

The grip on Junkrat's throat further tightened...

"Hog, b-buddy!" He choked out.

"F-forget what I said, please! Don't take anything by it. You know how I am, I'm just the chatty sort-"

"Ahhhh!"

Junkrat flew face-first into the dirt, skittering forward like a rock.

"Ahhh, hahaha. Glad...we got that settled Hog."

Roadhog rolled his eyes. At least the crazy Rat bastard was honest, even to the point of sharing too much information.

Now the Rat kept a solid meter away from him, just how Hog liked it.

* * *

They'd just made camp-directly on top of dead raiders.

Many had wanted to try their luck that day.

Roadhog's guts twisted uncomfortably as he watched Junkrat work. He'd hoped that the feeling would have been snuffed out after being around Junkrat for so long; but it seemed every day, every campsite, the Rat managed to _'still'_ surprise him.

Rat always insisted on making camp right after a big skirmish, so he could loot the bodies...and well, eat them.

"Roadhog, you really _really_ sure you don't want a '_tiny'_ piece this time around?" Junkrat gestured around himself. Bodies blown to bits decorated all his sides.

"I just can't be eating this mess myself you know."

Junkrat picked up a lone hand. The flesh was floppy, and he smiled as he waved it in Roadhog's direction.

"You don't want me to cook you up a finger or two? It'd be no problem, mate!"

Roadhog's guts twisted further.

His diet didn't agree with meat of any kind; long-pork especially, was unthinkable.

"No," he sighed. "No thanks."

Junkrat frowned, disappointed as he always was in the answer. "Yah know, the first time I saw you Roadie, I had you pegged as a cannibal."

Junkrat selected a particularly intact body. It still smoked from the explosion and the muscle wasn't all that tense. It was plenty fresh then.

"A guy that big, I thought, no fucken way that _you, Roadie,_ 'wasn't' a cannibal. Only way I could think of, honestly."

Junkrat cut into the chest-cavity with nothing but a sad little shiv. He struggled to snap loose the ribs, twisting them in a gentle death-roll.

When the ribs finally came loose, he began chewing them individually, like cigars.

"Imagine my _surprise_." Junkrat's tone soured, as if disgusted that Roadhog _'didn't'_ cannibalize his fellow man.

'_What the fuck,' thought Roadhog._

"Roadie, are you sure you're fine with just your tinnies and veggies?" It sounded almost condensing, but Junkrat's eyes looked legitimately worried, akin to a deranged doting mother.

Several unopened cans sat around Roadhog. It was good stuff: creamed spinach, spicy corn, salted beets…

"Yeah."

Not like Roadhog had much appetite after watching Junkrat work. The madman drank blood like water.

"_I'm_ fine."

* * *

Junkrat loved the smell of blood...and sweat, oddly enough. The smells reminded him of fear; how in so many fights he'd been the clear winner.

It was night and Roadhog was sleeping accordingly. The Hog always broke out into a cold-sweat, which Rat could only tie to his immense-size.

Junkrat couldn't resist staring at Roadhog most nights. The Hog smelled uncannily reminiscent of salted jerky...

Plus, Junkrat didn't sleep...never felt the need...so things tended to get boring...

"Roadie!"

Junkrat also couldn't resist waking the Hog up.

Roadhog sighed. The Rat's midnight yowling was keeping him up more and more often.

"How do you deal with hunger?"

What? What kinda question was that?

Roadhog turned around in the dark, sitting up reluctantly from his cozy mattress.

"Damn," said Roadhog. "You look like...shit."

Junkrat wasn't looking pretty. He blinked slowly, as if he couldn't see Roadhog right before him. He also shivered pathetically, like a small dog stuck out in the cold.

"I'm hungry."

"Obviously."

More and more often, Junkrat was waking him up in the middle of the night. The most memorable incident had been when Junkrat had smashed a window-in. The sound had nearly given him a heart-attack.

"I stubbed my toe and fell forward Roadie! I'm sorry!"

_I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry!_

That was always the story with Rat. Roadhog wasn't stupid though. He could see that blood and glass covered both of Junkrat's arms.

"Stubbed toe" his ass…it was obvious Rat had outright punched the glass.

Junkrat was having _'fits'_ in the night.

Roadhog had stayed up a few times, hearing a plethora of curses and screeching, the special blend only possible from a madman.

Junkrat ripped apart rotten wood boards and smashed metal pipes against rocks.

The most damning thing of all was that no matter how much a _'psychotic-break'_ Junkrat had, everything in the morning was always in its place.

Piles of scrap were organized.

Abused chairs and crates sat in their usual places, even if there was clear evidence of a beaver-mauling.

The morning, post the window smashing, had revealed not a single shard of glass.

Roadhog almost wrote the drama off as a dream, but then he saw Junkrat's bloody, scabbed arms.

The man had the decency to hide the mess behind his back.

Good, he had the sense to be embarrassed.

Still, the Rat didn't seem to be able to ignore his arms. He began to lick them. Slowly, the licking grew more frantic. The scabs began to bleed again.

"Rat, cut that shit out!"

Roadhog pulled Junkrat towards him with his hook.

The man didn't even seem to notice him until Roadhog touched angry knuckles to his forehead.

He wasn't sick...not with a fever.

Infact, Rat was as cold as ice...

"What's wrong with you?"

Junkrat smiled, his teeth red and greasy.

"Oh, now that's a loaded question Roadie. Yah can't just go asking that and expect a straight ahhhh-"

Regret flashed in Junkrat's eyes as he hugged himself. He waved his arms around, possibly to distract from the pain.

"What's wrong?" Repeated Roadhog.

"I'm...I'm just hungry is all."

Usually Junkrat was a crud-liar. He tended to look both ways when he did, but this time he just starred at Roadhog, like those beady orange eyes could cut right through him..

Roadhog sighed.

"Here, take this then."

He produced one of his vegetable cans: one of simply beans.

"I'd call bullshit on that, since I saw you eat a small army the other day...but... you're probably '_just_' malnourished or something…"

Not like Roadhog was going to flat out say that the more likely reason, was that Junkrat was just_ 'batshit crazy.' _He wasn't in the mood for a fight.

Rat accepted the gift gingerly. Roadhog guarded his cans as well as a dragon guarded it's gold.

It was a _very_ nice gift, actually.

"Thanks... you're a nice sort these days, Roadie."

Junkrat retreated to a corner, hugging his knees.

He opened the can with a poke from a mechanical finger, only to find that beans...were revolting.

Maybe it was the smell? Even trash water or the bottom of a loo hadn't been so bad in comparison.

It was as if he was repelled, on a fundamental level. Beans weren't food! They were the collected upchuckings of some demon!

"Bloody hell."

His mind screamed at him to toss the can away.

He trembled as he licked at the mess, spilling the beans more onto his chest than even the ground. Each bean might as well have been a scurrying cockroach.

"What's wrong with me?"

He punched the earth, winching when his scabs again started to bleed.

The few beans that he'd eaten had been tasteless...no, weightless...as if he'd eaten nothing but air.

But...he was so hungry...and...he couldn't just squander Roadhog's generosity.

Junkrat bit into the can. Tin was surprisingly weak against his corn-kernel teeth. The can was easily stripped into lines of soft metal.

Junkrat ate the can, slowly but surely; by a single tin-flake at a time.

But the tin tasted of nothing. It sat in his stomach as good as air.

He could only taste the blood from his shredded lips.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for reading! Reviews and feedback are greatly appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

_**Wendigo Rat: Chapter 2**_

* * *

Overwatch.

It was a quaint enough set up. The taps ran fresh, clean water. The kitchen was stocked with all manner of goods for the taking.

Being around so many people, and being perfectly safe...Junkrat just couldn't believe it was real.

This Overwatch place was paradise.

As he ate something called a 'hamburger,' courtesy of Overwatch's cafeteria, Junkrat's reason and senses began screaming at him not to mess this deal up.

As he looked, he found many people in close proximity, eating their own burgers and sitting together.

Junkrat twitched in place, mindlessly rocking back and forth as he struggled to stop his impulse to throw a bomb into the biggest crowd of people.

'There would be so much to eat,' he thought.

He pecked pitifully at the fries his burger had come with. The food wasn't meat, wasn't something dead, so it was worthless to sooth his hunger.

He stood up, clutching a bomb in one hand…

Perhaps...perhaps...he could get another burger?

Overwatch was a paradise, wasn't it?

* * *

Killing Talon soldiers was the highlight of any mission. Save for the explosions and the click of his traps, Junkrat loved nothing more then the smell of blood and fear.

He loved how his beloved explosions tore bodies apart. He loved how embers danced in the air and movement always slowed when he glimpsed the final expressions of damned Talon soldiers.

Junkrat's work became a breathing-dead symphony as fire leeched up from thin walls and floors. Bodies more often than not, ended up as crisp black husks.

Junkrat loved fighting in hallways the most. He could aim his bomb-gun easily with the close walls. His bombs bounced like inconspicuous rubber balls.

In such close quarters, not a single soldier had yet to survive after a bomb or two.

And best, best of all...a hallway was inconspicuous and narrow…

By protocol and common-sense, Junkrat was allowed to pick up Talon bodies and to drag them into rooms along the hall.

He was _"hiding"_ them so to speak; thus, Junkrat could retain some element of surprise…

Though it was complete bullshit, if Junkrat was being honest. He was the least sneaky sort of person he could think of; and, the next wave of Talon soldiers no doubt had a gage on his location by sound alone...

Junkrat gritted his teeth…

Of course, the more reasonable explanation of Talon always knowing where Junkrat was, was that cameras tended to litter their hideouts, inside and out.

In fact, the sheer number of cameras Junkrat spotted was intimidating as well as mortifying.

Junkrat still couldn't wrap his head around the fact, that in the modern world, in the metal entanglement of civilization…

No one had any privacy. Cameras were always watching someplace…someone...

Rat's head and back burned, as cameras no doubt had him pinned down in every direction…

Which is again why he liked hallways. He could pick up the bodies and "hide" them. In the dark corners of deserted offices and countless laboratories...Junkrat could pretend to "hide" too. That the cameras couldn't see him...see him bite into Talon necks and take pliers to hands, hiding the fingers for later-snacks.

Of course, pretending meant little in the face of reality.

Rarely did a second wave of Talon soldiers ever _"did"_ bother Junkrat.

On their cameras no doubt, Talon saw...his crimes, his hunger.

Junkrat made the habit of looking up to the cameras, with hair and face covered in gore.

They were right to be scared.

* * *

"Jamison, thank you for taking the time to come see me."

Winston sat on a tire-swing. Despite his precarious position, he easily looked dignified and professional; especially when Junkrat was seated in just a simple chair below him.

Winston was massive, larger than Roadhog and even most battle-ready omnic.

Then again, Winston was a silverback gorilla...it was hardly surprising.

Still, Junkrat was wasn't looking all too friendly at the moment. If things came to a fight, there was no question as to who would win.

Rat felt like a lizard facing up to a dragon.

"How are you liking Overwatch so far?"

Junkrat chuckled, "Oh I love it! This place is paradise compared to what I'm used: water on tap, food, etc. yah get the picture!"

He waved a hand, "Anyway, I have a hunch you didn't call me in here for friendly chit-chat. So what's this about bigman?" Junkrat rolled his eyes. "What I do this time, yeah?"

Winston's face slowly lost all humor. Junkrat bit his lip, suddenly keen on the fact of how easily Winston could snap his neck.

"With the revival of Overwatch, you are aware that I hold an unofficial leadership position, yes? At least as far as Watchpoint Gibraltar goes…"

Junkrat tentatively nodded, "Yeah…?"

What was Winston getting at?

"And with such position I take special interest in the well-being of each member of Overwatch."

Winston adjusted his glasses, looking off to the side.

"Athena, please present the collected footage concerning mister Jamison Fawkes."

"Of course, Winston," said the base AI.

Suddenly a screen popped in front of them. It flickered briefly before a video came into view: Junkrat was seen latched to the neck of a Talon body. His teeth rip and tore. With what little fingernails he had, he'd scratched and clawed.

It was sobering to Junkrat. The amount of blood and gore...how it was recorded with such acute detail...was mind-blowing.

"Ahhh…I see now."

"Jamison, this...this behavior is completely unprecedented, unacceptable!" Winston got up from the tire, to stand barely an inch away from Junkrat, who suddenly felt very _very_ small.

"W-why?! This is disgusting, ludicrous!" Winston screamed. He reared up as if his eyes burned.

"Disgusting!"

*'Whamp!'

Winston punched the laboratory floor. A sizable dent was left in the metal. His huge teeth snapped into a snarl.

Junkrat licked his lips, a bit envious of said huge teeth. He didn't believe Winston ever made proper use of them...

"As supervisor and administrator of Overwatch, I ask you Jamison...NO, demand that you cease this depraved behavior immediately!"

"Or what?" Junkrat surprised himself, with how snappy he sounded.

Winston frowned, grim as a rock.

"Or your _'employment'_ at Overwatch will be _over,_ effective immediately."

Junkrat paled at that. Overwatch was a great deal he didn't want to lose.

He bit his tongue to avoid saying anything _'smart'_ that was sure to get him killed.

"But, I realize such extreme, depraved behavior isn't done without reason." Winston sat back into his tire. Hair that had prickled some, settled as his fury subsided.

"Tell me, what-" Winston paused, turning to flick the screen.

Countless…numerous, videos of Junkrat tearing into Talon bodies like candy populated the screen.

Junkrat looked on in awe. He leaned in until his fingers touched the screen, genuinely fascinated. He never realized how much blood there was...

"Wow," drool dribbled onto his chin. "I didn't...I didn't really know how much blood n' guts _actually_ showered up on the cam."

Junkrat smile cheekily, quirking his brow up at Winston. He couldn't help but to push his chest out in pride.

"No wonder Talon's afraid of me. You know, bigman?" His eyes flickered with a keen madness. The Rat touched the corners of the screen, practically embracing it as if it were the face of a lover. "The soldiers, they never do bother me _'twice'_ during a battle."

Junkrat frowned, "Heck, I get lucky if a second squad of Talon even dare gets close to me, once the cams are set on me anyway. Usually I just gotta chase them down."

Winston looked simultaneously disgusted and curious at the same time. "You suspect, Talon...fears you?"

Junkrat chuckled, slapping himself on the knee. "Of course! Only the insane wouldn't be!"

Junkrat spread his arms out, gesturing wildly. "And, I KNOW so!" He was starting to feel a bit desperate as Winston's disgusted stare continued to bore into him. He seemed seconds away from an untimely death.

"Take a look at the pattern on me missions. Any spot I'm '_at'_ on the map is destined to stay clear if I so much as sit there. Yah gotta admit, I'm good use to Overwatch!"

Winston, of course, looked skeptical. Jamison "Junkrat" Fawkes was a valuable asset to Overwatch, but if he was so mentally-ill he cannibalized his own kind, out of leisure...well, the Rat couldn't be trusted on base...it was simply logical.

Junkrat chuckled nervously. He seemed to pick up on Winston's train of thought.

"Tell me Jamison, why-"

"You wanna know why?"

"Yes."

Junkrat had the sense to look bashful. He stared at the floor, anticipating a gorilla-swipe that would snap his neck with ease…

"Right...why…" Junkrat had to admit, it wasn't a question he ever asked himself before, at least by what he remembered.

"Well, tell me this first-_ 'Winston,' bigman_, have you ever eaten a person? _'Tasted'_ long-pork?"

Winston brushed a hand over his brow. His disgust seemed to have reached a limit, as did his patience.

"No, nor would I ever want to."

Junkrat grumbled, disappointed. Any plan of persuasion seemed less likely… "Never ever?" He leaned forward, fumbling something from a pocket to his hand.

"Well, now's your chance to see what you're missing out on."

Winston cocked a brow. Junkrat held out a hand. Only when he leaned closer, did he realize…

Junkrat held out a human finger.

"My god-"

"I carry a bunch to snack, yah can have at it."

"I reiterate what I just said! Dispose of it, now!"

Junkrat blinked, then shrugged, holding back a chuckle motivated by Winston's icy glare.

"Kay." Rat popped the finger into his mouth, chewing it with uncanny ease. He almost choked as he withheld a laugh, seeing how Winston's glare turned into astonished horror.

"W-why?"

"I'm hungry."

Winston rolled his eyes, partly out of shock. "Sick," he sneered. How disgusting Junkrat was couldn't be overstated. He was rendered speechless.

The two sat in silence for a while. Only Junkrat's crunching of the finger could be heard.

Eventually Winston sighed. He wanted this conversation to be over with.

He reached behind himself…

Junkrat froze.

In Winston's grip...was a jar of peanut butter.

"Please, eat this instead. It ought to be healthier."

Junkrat expected to be attacked, by a stun-gun or a punch to the head...not, peanuts.

He was thankful he wasn't allergic to peanuts, else things would've gotten more awkward.

"Oh...thanks."

Gingerly, he opened the jar. Rat struggled not to grimace as he scooped peanut butter onto his fingers.

He almost snapped his fingers off with how quickly he licked the butter down. Thankfully he didn't taste it, despite how much it made him gag.

It was like eating warm mud.

Peanut butter wasn't meat, wasn't something bloody and dead...so his stomach twisted, betrayed.

Junkrat would have to vomit it up later.

"Good, isn't that better Jamison?"

Junkrat gave Winston a measured expression. Had Winston been human, he would've been hanging dead between Rat's teeth...but he wasn't…

Rat had slunk down from his chair. His belly bulged enough to drag onto the floor, as Junkrat crawled forward on all fours.

Winston was again rendered speechless as Junkrat looked up and arched his back, movement uncannily just like an actual rat. Junkrat's eyes weren't those of a man, not even one lost or insane.

Junkrat's eyes were dead, bright orange-fire that killed everything in its path. Those eyes bore into Winston, not blinking once before Winston himself had to turn away. It was a look that was too intense.

"Nevermind the peanut butter."

Winston turned back to the screen, unable to bring himself to continue looking at Junkrat.

Was he that disgusted? The reality that Junkrat was an active cannibal still hadn't clicked for him.

Was he ashamed that one of his agents ended up being a person so disappointingly insane?

Winston shook his head. No, it was something…

"Uh, bigman...I'm still here yah know?"

Something otherworldly…? Was that the word.

"I hate waiting!"

Sighing, Winston spun around. Junkrat looked up, more confused than angry.

"Fine, I'll keep things brief. You are to no longer 'eat' Talon soldiers, is that clear?"

"What?!" Junkrat sprung up. His face red as if he'd sat on dynamite.

"No! Nah! I ain't agreeing to that."

Winston frowned, but he wasn't angry. He'd realized he was still very shocked at the revelation of "Junkrat's cannibalism," and that solving such a deranged problem wouldn't be so cut and dry.

He didn't expect Junkrat would outright stop...the recordings were too numerous...too bloody. Junkrat also looked to enjoy himself too much in every single one.

"Fine, let us compromise then." Winston took his glasses off, proceeding to nervously rub the lens clean.

"Jamison." Winston barely stopped himself from growling.

"If you are to remind an Overwatch agent, you are to uphold the reputation of the agency."

Winston slipped his glasses back, slowly. His eyes began to water as he also felt pity for Junkrat.

What sentient-creature, be it man or gorilla, sought out cannibalism for sport? Just how twisted was Junkrat's upbringing to turn him into such a monster?

Eventually he turned around, staring at Junkrat.

Those dead orange eyes stared back. Junkrat smiled too wide, gripping the given jar of peanut butter with white-knuckled hatred . He'd stuck his tongue out, obviously not pleased by the taste.

Winston raised a brow at that. Was it possible that someone didn't like peanut butter?

"Here, sometimes the peanuts go best with this."

Junkrat looked on the cusp of screaming as he accepted the banana. Winston could only stare, gobsmacked as Junkrat struggled to peel the skin and to take even a single bite…

Human fingers dropped onto the floor. Junkrat began gingerly dipping them into the peanut butter and discarded the banana entirely.

There was something seriously wrong with Junkrat.

"Jamison Fawkes, I am placing you on probation."

"Probation? Eh, what's that exactly?"

"I am giving you a second chance to stay in Overwatch, albeit tentatively. You are to report twice a week to Doctor Ziegler for therapy to address your 'cannibalism.' She will be notified of it accordingly." Winston sighed. "Failure to do so will lead to your immediate termination."

"Termination as in death?"

"Yes."

Junkrat stared with those inhuman eyes, before slowly nodding. "Fine, but only under one condition."

"And what would that be?"

"I get a tire-swing."

* * *

A/N: Thank you for reading! Reviews and feedback are greatly appreciated!


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